All of us—NBA fanatics, analysts, casual onlookers—absorb the league with a soft spot that occasionally doubles as an irredeemable flaw. Bear traps of belief. For the past five years, mine was the Los Angeles Clippers, a convulsing roller-coaster ride that numbed my senses, weakened my knees, and distorted what it means to feel hope in a reality that provides fleeting evidence that any exists.
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